A Christmas Program
by Calliope-Elven-Agent
Summary: In honor of the Holiday season, this is a serious (cough, cough) parody in which the Merovingian discovers the true meaning of Christmas, with the help of some ghostly programs... (not Twins!) R&R!


A Christmas Program

or

A silly fluffy Matrix Christmas Parody

or

"Please don't kill me, Mr. Dickens!"

A/N: Okay, so I'm in a bit of a silly mood. Probably from eating too much cookie dough. But, in honor of the Christmas season, I decided that a collision between the Matrix and "A Christmas Carol" would be most appropriate. I know it's horribly OOC. So don't flame. Please. If you like this story, ship some snow to down here in Louisiana. It will be greatly appreciated. Reviewers will receive an answer from the authoress, (bows) and a free candy cane. So relax, crank up the heater, make yourself a nice cup of hot cocoa, and enjoy this bit of Christmas-y fluff. Cheers.

Disclaimer: The Matrix belongs to the brothers with the un-spellable name. I don't own A Christmas Carol. All excerpts from said book are written by Charles Dickens, not me. The excerpts from any other Christmas-y songs and poems and stories each belong to their authors. Thank you.

_"Once upon a time—of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve—old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house…The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters…'A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!' cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach. 'Bah!' said Scrooge, 'Humbug!'"_

"All zis fuss about Christmas. What exactly is ze point of it?"

"A very good question, sir."

"Of course it's a good question! Don't talk back at meh!"

"Yes sir."

The Weird french dude, aka The Merovingian, was in a very bad mood. Not that he ever was in a good mood, but today it was pretty bad. Christmas often makes people depressed, but it has an even worse effect on powerful programs.

"And what are you doing in ma study?! Get ze hell out of 'ere!"

"Yes sir."

The twins walked casually out and closed the door behind them.

"He is in a very bad mood."

"Yes he is."

As soon as the door had closed, the Merovingian poured himself his fifteenth glass of wine.

"I ought to do somezing about zat back-talk. Never a good zing. It's from zis "Christmas" stuff. I know it is. I should put a stop to it. I should. But I can't. It makes the humans "happy". Silly creatures. It makes mozt of zem depressed. What with all zis "Santa" character, too. You would sink zat zose children would figure it out logically, but no, zeir puny brains can't comprehend logic. Stupids."

From here, he started rambling on and on with french cursing, mixed in with other random rantings about Santa, depression, trees, lights, stockings, stupid children, and Christmas in general.

_When out on the rooftop, there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter!_

The Merovingian stopped the thought and shook his head. Where did that come from?! He was getting as bad as the humans.

Slamming down his wineglass and cracking the stem in the process, he got up and stomped his way down the richly decorated hallway, still muttering curses and rantings…

_"We're from the island of misfit toys…."_

A television set hummed from behind a nearby door. Fuming, the Merovingian yanked it open, and saw, to his horror, that his library now contained an enormous Christmas Tree, and his men were gathered around the television, which was playing Rudolf the Red-nose Reindeer! Of all things! His tough, cold, trained assassins watching RUDOLF!

Swearing, the Merovingian lunged across the room and pulled the plug. His assassins stared at him.

"What was that for, sir?"

"You're watching some (french) Christmas movie you (french) (french)!!! What are you sinking?!"

The men merely stared at him in shock. He had never told them not to watch anything before!

The Merovingian stood in front of the TV, eyes bulging, face beet-red, and, if possible, smoke was blowing furiously out of his ears. His eyes rested on the tree in the corner, and he smiled wickedly. Making his way over to it, he first pulled the plug, turning off the lights. He then placed his foot at the base, and giving it a ferocious kick, toppled the poor thing to the floor. Finally satisfied, the Merovingian dusted off his hands and walked calmly out of the room.

Cain blinked. "…Merry Christmas…?"

The Merovingian, very happy with himself, strode back down the hallway and re-entered his study. After noticing the cracked stem of the wineglass with disgust, he got up yet again and went in search of a new glass. Suddenly, he heard Persephone calling to him from their bedroom. She was trying on various green and red dresses, and looked in a very festive mood.

"What is it?"

She turned, and waved a folded piece of paper in his face. Grabbing it, he unfolded it, and read this:

_"I'd like to invite you and your lovely wife down to my place for a nice warm Christmas dinner. Bring all the boys too. I'm sure they'll be very hungry. I'll get Seraph to baby-sit them. _

_The Oracle"_

If words could describe the look on the Merovingian's face, I'd be sure to use them. But they don't. So I leave it to your imagination.

"What- what- what…?!"

"Will this one do, my love?" Persephone, not taking notice of the color of her husband's face, smoothed a cranberry colored dress and admired herself in the mirror.

"No it will NOT (french) do! We are not going!!! Ze only place I'm going is to bed! Good night!"

Throwing himself on top of the bed, he smothered his red-hot face with a pillow and mentally ranted himself to sleep.

_"…As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room… It was with great astonishment, and with a strange inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house._

_This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below; as if some person were dragging a heavy chain… Scrooge then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains."_

Clink. Clink. Clink.

The Merovingian opened an eye.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Now both eyes, wide.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

It was getting louder, closer… the Merovingian cautiously began moving the pillow from his face…

BANG!

The door burst open, as did the windows, letting in a blast of freezing cold air. The Merovingian sat straight up, staring in shock at the figure that had come through the doorway.

Smith?

It couldn't be.

But there he was, pale, wrapped in a white shroud and dragging numerous chains behind himself.

"The great Merovingian. We meet at last."

The voice was the same, but higher, almost at a whisper.

The Merovingian clutched the pillow to his chest, shivering.

"What do you want?!"

"I want everything."

"As usual. What is everyzing?"

"A message. I want to give you one."

"Zat in only one zing, not everyzing."

The apparition narrowed his eyes and seemed to float over to the bedside, leaning over the trembling Merovingian.

"Do not talk back to me."

"Y-y-yes, all right…!"

Smith smiled and leaned against the grandfather clock, if you could call it "leaning". It was more like fading halfway into it.

"You see these chains?"

The Merovingian nodded.

"These chains were formed by me. I cannot remove them."

"Good for you."

"I SAID no back-talk!"

"All right…"

"Do you know how? I will tell you. They were formed by my own acts against the Holiday season."

"Zey were what?"

Taking no notice of the interruption, the spirit continued.

"Whenever I did or said anything that spoiled Christmas for anyone, one link was made. Link by link I formed my own doom and agony. I come to warn you, Merovingian."

"M-m-m-me…?" Stuttered the poor program.

"Yes. You. You hate Christmas. If you do not stop hating it, your chain will be even longer than mine. But there is hope for you. You will be haunted by three programs tonight. Expect the first at exactly 1:01 AM tonight. Expect the second at that same time. Expect the third at that same time as well. Goodbye, Mr. Merovingian."

"My name is THE Merovingian!"

But the ghost was gone.


End file.
